


Takeback (Puzzle Pieces)

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Harem, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmates, pairings to be added as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Becoming a Prime meant accepting a council of sparkmates, mechs who represented not just the varying people on Cybertron, but who kept the Prime from turning against his people. Rodimus never had such a council, and so, Ratchet always assumed he was a Prime in name only.Ratchet was wrong.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 105
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Several years ago, there was a prompt in the TF kink community that I always meant to fulfill that involved Optimus having to romantically bond to one mech from every city so he could rule as Prime without playing favorites. 
> 
> This week I took the core components of that idea, applied it to Rodimus on the Lost Light, fucked around with the timeline a bit, and then tipped the whole thing sideways. 
> 
> Chapter one is the edited, combined three pieces I put out on Tumblr. Yes there will be more, probably soon because I don't feel like working on anything else.
> 
> WARNINGS: Not a whole lot for this chapter. Lemme know if you want anything up here.

_Knocked out but boy you better come to_  
_Don't die, you know the truth as some do_  
_Go write your message on the pavement_  
_Burn so bright I wonder what the wave meant_

_|Can't Stop--Red Hot Chili Peppers|_

* * *

The Matrix selecting a second Prime, only to eventually hop back to the previous one was something Ratchet had done an amazing job of not thinking about. 

If pressed (which he had not been) he would have said chances were the AI (for it was an AI in the Matrix,  _ had to be, _ and not a part of Primus or Cybertron or whatever other mumbo jumbo people went on about) hadn’t actually “chosen” Rodimus. If it had actually attached itself to the younger mech, then it had done so only on the surface. 

But more than likely, Rodimus himself had just held onto the thing and then came back proclaiming his status as the new Prime. 

Those weren’t nice thoughts, but they were the ones that let Ratchet sleep at night. Let him join the  _ Lost Light _ , roll his optics at his new leader and generally not worry so much about his old one. Optimus had this. Optimus had been chosen, and if the Matrix had gone back to him, then he continued to be chosen. Guided. 

Even if Ratchet himself didn’t always agree with the hows and wheres of such guidance, he knew enough, had witnessed enough, to know the Matrix could be trusted to help when it came to the fate of Cybertron and its people. 

He tried so hard to not think about it in fact, that by the third or fourth major incident aboard the  _ Lost Light _ he ceased to even remember it had been a concern. After all, if Rodimus had been chosen, a certain number of things would have happened. Painfully obvious, very public, and very annoying things. 

Then Getaway had to go and stage a mutiny and everything went to shit. 

xXx

Someone was screaming his name.

Rodimus couldn’t care less. 

Getaway was directly ahead of him, plunging into fire that he couldn’t survive (but Rodimus  _ could) _ intending to walk a tight line between escape and death. 

Rodimus couldn’t let him do either. 

The fire didn’t eat his plating but kissed it. Welcomed him into its midst as a friend rather than as the foe it saw Getaway as. He’d lied about this ability, lied that he was an outlier, but then he’d lied about so much already, what more did this count? 

He took two steps. Three. Getaway’s body was before him, the frame shuddering under all the heat. 

The next step they took in unison. Getaway fell right after, succumbing to the smoke that choked his vents, the heat that melted his pedes. In seconds Rodimus was upon him, touching him--

_ And then he was yanked right out of his body with such force it felt as though Primus himself had recalled his spark _

An apt comparison, because that was exactly what had happened.

“What the fuck.” Rodimus said, abruptly in a place where there was everything and nothing, twisted all together. His normal senses--sight, sound, taste, touch were gone, but he could  _ sense _ things in a way he never could before. 

Sense the body of what felt like life itself pulsing in front of him, projecting an image of a deity that practically bled power. 

Charge ran through Rodimus’s frame the same way adrenaline powered a human in times of high stress and Rodimus’s engine still ran high, his whole being on high alert. It changed as it took in the form before him, rage, determination, fear and anxiety replaced with awe and a slow pulse of religious ecstasy. 

He was safe here. He was home here.

He was 100% going to get chewed out by Primus itself because his God was projecting the image of a  _ very _ disgruntled parent. 

“We were selective, with you.” It--or they, Rodimus didn’t know, said, beginning the slow start of a rant most humans would recognize instantly. 

“The Matrix passed through multiple hands, took it’s time picking who would carry it next. When it found you, we knew. You were the one--and you remain to be the one.” That part wasn’t meant to be assuring but deeply was. How could it not be, when his crew had mutinied on him? How could it not be, when he had been such a poor leader that  _ Megatron _ had been assigned to take his place? 

“What we did not know was that you were going to be as equally stubborn about this as your predecessor.” Primus continued, and at that exact moment Rodimus knew the words “I am very disappointed in you” were about to be spoken. 

He interrupted before it could go there. 

“You shouldn’t have picked me.” He said, and for once he wasn’t petulant, or defensive, but honest. Painfully, wholly,  _ honest. _

The numbers carved into his hand refused to let him be anything but.

“I’m not--I’m not like him.” He didn’t have to explain that he meant Optimus. There was no need. Primus knew. 

The deity sighed, annoyance rolling from it and translating itself for Rodimus, who instantly understood that every, single Prime before him had said the exact same thing, and that Primus was very tired of having this conversation over and over. 

“Optimus was picked out of necessity, to lead the war. The war is over. You, youngling, have been picked to lead after it’s end.” Primus said, and abruptly Rodimus also knew that they weren’t softballing him like all the others had been. There wasn’t time for that, for careful comfort and guidance. 

Likewise, he understood that it wasn’t being given because _ he didn’t need it.  _ Primus was getting right to the core of things fast and trusted him enough to handle it. Fluid crept into his optics, at the level of trust being shown. He didn’t deserve it. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. 

That thought was part of what had always held him back. 

“Why didn’t the Matrix stay with me then?” Rodimus asked, but part of him knew a truth he’d never dared speak. 

He could have refused to give it back--and it would’ve let him. Stayed with him, without complaint. 

Primus answered more with thoughts directly implanted in his head than by speaking aloud, but words came with the flow of images, of emotions and fully formed plans. “We are at a tipping point. Either you step up as a leader and cement the true end of this war--or it will begin again, and Optimus will take back his place. As it stands, you are both in limbo. Neither of you are doing what you should be.” There was an  _ massive _ amount of exasperation packed into that sentence, enough that a rock could’ve picked it up. 

Rodimus opened his mouth to protest and was met with the image of two massive optics narrowing like a parent who absolutely did not want to hear the word no. 

“You are ignoring your instincts. Follow them instead.” 

The speedster once again understood. Instantly. Regrettably. One of his lies had come to smack him straight in the face and of all people, Primus was calling him out on it. 

“They won’t accept me.” Rodimus protested immediately, the words erupting out of his mouth without thought. 

“Let them make that decision.” Primus chided, but it was gentle. Loving. 

He had made it past the yelling portion of this event and had moved into the tough love section. 

Rodimus sucked in a harsh vent. Because that--that involved doing more than just opening himself up. It meant  _ baring _ himself to others, baring his spark to others, becoming the center of a group of mechs who would know him better than he knew himself. 

He had done so many terrible things…

Yet Primus accepted him. Yet Primus “stared” at him openly, knowing all those he killed and all that he had done. 

Unspoken, the words appeared in his helm.

‘If I have forgiven you, then you have no reason not to forgive yourself.’

That was hard--too hard, for today, they both knew. It did however allow Rodimus to take the steps he couldn’t before. Embrace what he had run from.

The Matrix, in its full power, could not be contained by one mech. Likewise people could not be led by one spark. There had to be a Council, a group of mechs who represented each faction of the people. Who spoke for them, and made sure all were equal in the eyes of those who ruled. 

Who were connected to each other because if they were not, they would fight. Misunderstand. 

Destroy. 

To rule on Cybertron, to take the role of Prime, was to accept not one sparkmate, but several. Become a pillar for a complex and shifting group that ranged from mechs physically intimate to each other to those who simply shared strong mental bonds. 

One vent. Two. Three. 

“Okay.” He said. Then; “Do I at least get to pick?”

Primus did an amazing impression of a human snort. 

“No.” It said.

The Prime (for he had been Prime, all this time, even if he had claimed the title in name only) woke up in his body, confidently striding out of the fire with his new paint job burnt off and Getaway slumped in his arms. 

“I’m gonna pass out.” He told Cyclonus, who somehow managed to emit a great sense of shock without showing any of it on his face. “Can you take him?”

“Of course, Captain.” The ancient warrior said, and then cursed as Rodimus dropped not even a second after he’d done so. 

The last thing he heard was Cyclonus bellowing for Ultra Magnus before the world thankfully, went black. 

xXx

Ratchet was having a very rough day. 

Drift was having a worse one. 

“You would think by the way you’re acting that you and Rodimus are the ones who are sparkmates.” Ratchet grumbled, after having to remind the swordsmech for a fourth time to move  _ away  _ from the damn medical berth. 

“Sorry.” Drift said, optics skittering away from Ratchet’s. The latter frowned--he’d learned enough about Drift’s mannerisms to know the idiot was hiding something from him, and Drift had gotten nothing but antsy since the moment they’d arrived mid-mutiny. He’d been letting it go in order to regain control of his medbay, the one Velocity was more than happy to surrender once she’d realized both Rodimus and Getaway were coming in. 

This was the first calm moment they’d had, and Ratchet intended to use it. 

“Alright. Out with it.” He demanded. “

Drift hesitated, but broke immediately when pinned with his lover's stare. 

“I told you I needed to talk with Rodimus before I bond with you.” Drift said all in a rush. “That there’s things you don’t know about and that I don’t even know if I  _ can _ bond--”

This was an argument they’d had twice before, one Ratchet constantly found frustrating. 

“The only reason you wouldn’t be able to bond would be if you were already in a  _ spark _ bond.” The medic exaggerated the word spark, because the last two times they’d gotten caught up on the various types of bonds one could have, with Drift apparently trying to make the point that something like a trine-bond could affect a sparkbond, while also admitting aloud that he knew that it wouldn’t. 

“I know, but there are other bonds out there that could interfere, and Rodimus is really the only one that knows about this one--”

_ “I _ would know if you would just explain it to me!” Ratchet snapped back. 

“You do know.” Rodimus said, interrupting, sitting up and putting a hand to his helm. 

“He definitely does not know.” Drift countered. Then; “Roddy, sit back down!” 

“No he definitely does,” Rodimus argued, ignoring Drift and swinging his legs over the berth, which startled Ratchet into striding over to shove him right back on it. “He definitely does. Because the only reason  _ he’s _ free to bond is because his connection to Optimus has severed.”

Ratchet froze. 

Drift froze. 

Rodimus stood, swaying from pain as he did so. 

“Also hi guys, welcome back.” Rodimus said tiredly, one hand rubbing the back of his helm. “Ratchet I owe you an apology.”

“For?” Ratchet said, every part of him knowing it wasn’t for what he  _ should _ be apologizing for. 

“Dragging you into this a second time.” Rodimus said, confirming his worst fears come back to life. “The Matrix knows how much you hate it by the way. It thinks it's  _ funny. _ ” 

“The Matrix,” Ratchet said, voice deadly calm. “Is cut in half.”

Rodimus just winced and rubbed the back of his head harder. “Not anymore.” He intoned, holding up the completed item in his other hand, the object having appeared from _ absolutely nowhere.  _

Much to Drift’s dismay, Ratchet cursed him out. 

xXx 

  
Some time back, on a ship which hosted the newly minted Rodimus Prime and the equally newly minted Autobot Drift, Springer was doing his best to ignore how weird life had gotten. Not for the first time he’d been confronted with something absolutely out of his scope to handle, and as such he did what he always had when confronted with the unknown:

He dumped it on Kup. 

It was less of a dumping and more of a panicked flailing while he pleaded for the elder bot to handle it but no one else needed to know that. 

And handle it Kup had. Drift and Rodimus (and  _ Primus  _ was that name going to take some time getting used to!) had shown up fairly close to one another. With Rodimus being pulled out of space, having floated there half destroyed for a disturbing amount of time, and Drift popping up mid fight spouting spiritualism like a human magic 8 ball, and the both of them being two of the most awkward individuals Springer had personally interacted with for a damn long time. 

Rodimus’s was a mess. Gone was the charming, if annoying, brash and reckless mech. In his place was a guy who couldn’t decide if he craved or feared being around people and whose reactions ranged wildly when it came to physical input (Springer would never again give him a hug without warning, not after Roddy had jerked away from him, optics wild, half in pain and half in pure panic.) Drift meanwhile, clearly did not know how to interact with Autobots. He said weird things, he did weird things, and he covered it all up when called out on it by announcing it was time to pray and scuttling off. (Later--a stupidly long amount of time later, Springer would learn this was because Drift was actually Deadlock, something  _ he _ had not known at the time but Kup _ had,  _ the fragger.) 

The pair were nurotic as fuck, even for the Wreckers, and Springer had half feared he was going to end up with a dead baby Prime until Kup had stepped in to work his magic. Of course, Springer might have been expecting actual magic and not just assigning the two as roommates and battle buddies. 

“Isolation does weird things to a mech. Physical isolation, mental isolation, or the kind caused by losing someone you love.” Kup had explained, when Springer demanded to know how room assignments were supposed to accomplish anything. 

“Drift thinks he was saved, and is more than willing to return the favor. Is desperate too, in fact. Rodimus…” Here the mech trailed off, taking a thoughtful puff of his cygar. “If Rodimus is the new Prime, then well.” He shrugged, optics shining with knowledge Springer knew he wasn’t gonna share. “There’s lots of things the kid’s gonna have to figure out. The faster the better. The sooner he gets over that spontaneously bursting into flames part, the better.” 

Unspoken, untold, was that Kup recognized that Rodimus needed an anchor, and that Drift’s spiritualism and personal debt he felt he owed, made him the perfect option. 

He wasn’t wrong.

Problem was, as far as anchor’s went, Drift wasn’t good at pushing--and pushing is what Rodimus truly needed. 

He wouldn’t be getting a mech that pushed into an odd amount of years later when Drift went and finally acted on his bazillion year crush, much to Primus’s chargain. 

xXx

Back on the Lost Light in present time, wherein Rodimus was having a hell of a time trying to court--but--not--court his CMO; 

“I didn’t know what I was doing, when I chose Drift.” Rodimus said, and instantly regretted it. Once again the words coming out of his mouth were  _ wrong _ , and that was going to ruin everything. God, Drift would never stop pouting if he fucked this up! 

“Rodimus didn’t have control over the Matrix when he was pulled into the Wrecker’s ship.” Drift said smoothly, explaining and expanding on Rodimus’s thought before things really could go wrong. He knew what his Prime meant, and not for the first time Rodimus found himself extremely grateful for him. He sent his gratitude and relief down their bond, not bothering to withhold any part of his emotions. 

They’d been apart for too long for Rodimus to withhold any part of himself. It was the only reason the two of them could still be like this, after all that happened. 

Drift gifted him a smile in response. “The Matrix healed his wounds and kept him alive when it made him Prime, but it also knew it needed to ground Rodimus, to get him mentally prepared for what was to come. The easiest way to do that was to start building the inner council.” 

The inner council hadn’t been called that, once upon a time. About five or so Primes ago it had been called the Primal Court, and before that, the Prime’s Harem. Not that Drift needed to explain it’s history. Ratchet was more than aware of it, what it did, and how mechs were selected to be in it. 

“People kept touching me, people the Matrix  _ wanted _ .” Rodimus said. “It--I’m not--” He struggled with the words for a moment, blasting out a frustrated ex-vent. “I didn’t want people in my head.” 

He still didn’t. 

He knew it sounded selfish, knew that wasn’t what Ratchet wanted to hear, and judging by the medic’s darkening expression, hadn’t been explained properly. 

Primus, why was this always so hard!? He could get up and do speeches in front of mechs all day every day. They weren’t eloquent, like Magnus wanted, or poetic like Megatron’s, or anything even close to Optimus’s, but they still moved people. Made them want to listen, to act. People felt he was a natural leader and told him so, over and over. Yet the second this bullshit with the Matrix came up and suddenly, his emotions all went wonky and his charm went right out the damn window. 

So much for being a leader. 

Then Drift said “Rodimus believes he doesn’t deserve a sparkmate, let alone a whole council of them.” and promptly blew the whole issue wide open. 

xXx

Ratchet didn’t believe in Primus. 

He did believe in corruption, technology, and the abilities of a charismatic storyteller utilized by a strong marketing campaign.

History was changeable, the truth easily erased, and the story always made to benefit those in power. Ratchet should know, he’d seen it happen. 

There wasn’t a deity who lived in a mystical space above them. If there was, then Ratchet was certain he’d be sent to the pit if only so the god could avoid the rant the medic had planned for it. Which was unfortunate, because it was that doubt, that pragmatism that made him such a perfect fit for the Prime’s inner council. 

One day he was going to get his hands on the parasitic ball of ancient tech that was the Matrix, and he was going to curb stomp it out of existence. Permanently. 

First however, it would appear that he would have to fix and guide a Prime, before the idiot killed himself and everyone else around him. 

_ Again.  _

Ratchet focused his optics on Rodimus. Thought through how he wanted to approach this. There wasn’t just one problem here for him to solve, and if the betrayed puppy look the kid was shooting at Drift was anything to go by, there was in fact, a whole goddamn network of problems he’d have to uproot. 

Looking back, Rodmius as the next Prime was making more sense by the second. 

“Why,” Ratchet challenged aloud, breaking through whatever conversation Drift and Rodimus were doing a poor job of hiding, “Would you feel that way?” That was a good place to start as any, even if it was merely a precursor for the deep emotional dive Ratchet was certain they were headed for. 

Both the Primeling and Ratchet’s Not-Yet-Husband startled, and Ratchet had to fight to the urge to roll his optics. 

A flurry of looks were traded between the two of them before Rodimus ended it by thrusting his hand, palm out, into the air.

“Guess.” He snapped, and if Ratchet hadn’t been watching, if he hadn’t as much experience with bots who could manage to be both emotionally constipated and socially graceful, he would’ve thought the mech was sulking. 

“The problem isn’t you being a Captain, it’s how you lead.” Ratchet said unthinkingly, immediately, surprising himself with the truth of it. “You hide things, Rodimus. You’re hiding something now. We can’t move forward with this conversation until you tell me what it is.” 

Rodimus was young and yes, selfish, but a vote of no confidence wouldn’t be enough to convince him he didn’t deserve a sparkmate. Frankly before this moment Ratchet had assumed Rodimus to be the kind who thought he was owed one. 

Leave it to him to be taught a lesson about assumption this late in the game. 

Rodimus field rioted, a flurry of emotions too fast for Ratchet to catch. Silently, he put his hand down, and triggered his chest plates to open. He didn’t bear his spark, but instead it’s casing, where a second number had been poorly scratched in large letters. The scratching was aged, but no less readable--Ratchet could tell it had been regularly re-scratched into Rodimus’s spark casing to prevent it from healing over. 

18,269, it read. 

That number wasn’t for a vote.

Rodimus wasn’t looking at him, optics pinned to the wall next to Ratchet’s head. Drift’s hand went to the Captain’s knee, and Rodimus grabbed it instead, squeezing tight. 

“That was Nyon’s population last time it was counted.” Rodimus explained, causing Ratchet to cast his memory a millenia back to the start of the war. 

“We never got a body count after I blew it up, so I don't know if the number’s right.” Rodimus continued, pained static weaving around the words. “Doesn’t matter though.” He shrugged.

Then, because that relevation wasn’t enough angst, he took a deep vent, brought his optics down to Ratchet’s and said; 

“I’m not doing this to you a second time. I’m not doing this to either of you. I figured it out.” He turned to Drift, optics full of self-sacrafice and Ratchet knew he what stupid bullshit he was going to say before it even came out of his mouth. 

“I’m dissolving our sparkbond, Drift. You need Ratchet more than anything, and no one really needs a prime anymore.” 

Not for the first time that day, Ratchet regretted his promise to stop drinking so much. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bunny Day for everyone who is as excited to get rid of that fucking yellow terror off their Animal Crossing Island as I am. 
> 
> Ratchet and Rodimus did not want to get along for a moment here in this chapter, and I had to coax Drift to figure out how the hell to use him to bring the two of them together. They finally get it but my god did Rodimus not want to let go of that angst.
> 
> This chapter was not edited or checked over by a second pair of eyes so please let me know if you spot any errors. 
> 
> Warnings: Still not a whole lot. Lemme know if you see any that you want mentioned!

This chapter's going to be a close one  
Smoke rings, I know you're going to blow one  
All on a spaceship persevering  
Use my hands for everything but steering

_|Can't Stop--Red Hot Chili Peppers|_

* * *

Somewhere down the line, Rodimus’s goals of becoming a cooler Optimus Prime (for the right reasons) had been mistaken for all the wrong ones. 

He wasn’t even sure when he had begun comparing himself to the elder Prime. He knew it started by looking up to him. Watching how he led his team, the Autobots, the war. He was an inspiration that Rodimus took notes on, from the speeches he gave to the way he managed to rally everyone around him. After all the death, all the destruction, Optimus had been the one to pull everyone together and deep in his spark, Rodimus desperately wanted to do the same.

Too bad Optimus hadn't started his journey being directly responsible for so much death.

At the end of the day Rodimus knew he was marked. No matter how many years he spent trying to make up for it, the guilt followed. No matter what he did, it was never enough. Silence and darkness held a weight that was impossible to escape so he surrounded himself with noise, with light.

The chase to not remember what he'd done became wrapped up in his desire to make things right, to even the balance in his spark. To be a _hero._

The comparison between himself and Optimus was a private thing. A case of worship. It wasn't supposed to get out, and it wasn't supposed to be used against him.

Everyone used it against him.

Rodimus had been fighting to separate himself from the mech for some time. Those fights had brought him Overlord, gotten rid of Drift, kicked off Getaway’s mutiny and nearly gotten his entire crew killed several times over.

Today, it was time to rewind the clock. Go back in time and act like he used to when every move he made was framed by "Would Optimus do this? Would he approve?"

So he’d opened his mouth, and spoken the thing he knew would kill him, because it was the right thing to do. 

Of course Ratchet and Drift had to go and ruin it.

Drift yelled, no, Ratchet yelled no, Drift followed up with a dramatic “I am not leaving you again!” right over the top of Ratchet’s snarled; “You’re _wrong_.” And it was just. 

So much.

Too much.

Rodimus automatically raised up a hand to fend it off, as though he could fight through the emotions coming at him physically. His own field retracted, trying to scramble away, trying to do what was right for fucking _once-!_

Ratchet grabbed his wrist. 

Rodimus blinked dumbly, optics flickering, as Ratchet brought his other hand out to Drift’s shoulder, silencing his mate-to-be. 

“Enough.” The medic said calmly, in a voice Rodimus had heard, but rarely (and never aimed at him.) Something that was fond, firm, and furious. 

“I will tell you what I have _repeatedly_ told Drift.” Ratchet continued. “We all have mistakes to make up for. For some, we get to choose how we make amends. For others, the person we hurt can sometimes tell us how to fix it. What we can’t do,” He squeezed Rodimus’s hand, and judging by Drift’s expression, his shoulder as well, “Is take on another’s regret, or feel guilty for their actions. We carry too much of our own to carry someone else as well.” 

“What I do is up to me.” Ratchet hurried as though Rodimus might try to cut him off, though the younger mech was too stunned to open his mouth. “What decisions I make are mine. I promise you I will not blame you for what I decide.”

The gravity of his words seeped into his field, the same one that pressed against Rodimus’s, as though he could get his point across if he pressed hard enough, felt strongly enough. 

“Did that seriously work on Drift.” Rodimus said, breaking the otherwise grave moment with a bad attempt at humor. 

Everyone ignored that his vocalizer wobbled while he spoke.

 _“Hey.”_ Drift protested, but it was fond, and it did its job of making Rodimus look over at him. The speedster held out his hand, fingers twitching in invitation. Without hesitating, Rodimus clasped it, returned the squeeze his best friend and first bondmate gave him.

The second they established optic contact Drift smacked him hard via the bond, and Rodimus’s vents hitched hard as a second flurry of emotions hit him, battling against Rodimus’s own until Drift had successfully gotten _his_ point across. 

It wasn’t a conversation in words, but emotions and it established a firm number of facts. 

Like that _Drift loved Rodimus, would always love him, and could not lose him. Would not lose him, and would not be letting him go._

_He also loved Ratchet._

_Yes for longer and yes differently than how he loved the younger Prime._

_No, he was not picking between the two of them, no he absolutely did not regret his and Rodimus's bonding._

_Yes Rodimus was an idiot for even thinking it._

_No he was not sorry for bringing this all to Ratchet’s attention, deal with it._

Deal with it Rodimus did. Or tried, anyway. 

Pinned physically by Ratchet, and mentally by Drift, Rodimus turned to the last person he could fight against--himself.

“I’m not worth this.” Rodimus started haphazardly, shoving down the urge to ignite into flame, burn himself until the fire cleansed him. (It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t do a damn thing to him. He knew, he’d already tried it.) 

“You don’t get to decide that either.” Ratchet told him flatly. His tone brooked no argument. Down the bond, Drift’s own resolve somehow steadied further, and together, the two of them trapped Rodimus in the corner, fighting his demons with logic and love. 

The Matrix, having been placed down some time ago, made itself known once again, blue light spilling from it’s center. It reached where even the bond could not, the feeling it sent both amused and playfully threatening. 

_‘You are ignoring your instincts. Follow them instead.’_ The Prime’s voice rang out in his helm like a bell, forcing him to wince. 

Resolve crumbling in the face of it all, Rodimus finally gave in.

“Alright, fine!" He said, voice a little static ridden, the words rushed. “But if we’re doing this, then we’re gonna do it my way.” 

Because he had thought of how the Matrix pulled multiple mechs towards him, some harder than others. Of Ratchet and Drift’s relationship, of the harder decisions he had heard or witnessed Optimus make. 

He thought of what needed to happen to reassure him this wasn’t an awful fragging mistake on all of their parts. 

“And what exactly is your way?” Ratchet asked gruffly but there was something affectionate there, directed at him. 

Rodimus barely believed it. “We don't bond today. We do it tomorrow, after you've," and he had to fight the words to get them out because it sounded so much like something Ultra Magnus would say that it made him gag a little, "thought it over."

Part of him--a large part of him, was positive Ratchet was going to realize this was all a mistake. 

Remember that he wasn’t Optimus. That he wasn’t anything like Optimus, and any attempts, even the lame one he was currently making, would never turn him into the elder Prime. 

_‘Let them make that decision.’_ Primus had said, when he’d told him that no one would accept him. 

This was how he was going to let Ratchet do it. 

Ratchet and Drift looked like they were both going to argue, the Matrix pulsing hard to just _bond already_ but he held firm.

This was one thing he could for them, the mechs he would bond with. And if no one chose to bond with him then maybe Primus would see he was wrong after all. Give the Matrix to someone who could actually save people.

Ratchet’s mouth popped open, his arms crossed against his chest but the buzz of a comm interrupted him.

“A day.” He agreed stiffly, after he had read whatever message he’d been sent. “I will think it over for a day. And at the end of it, my choices are mine. No one else gets to be guilty about them except for me.” He said it firmly, making sure to make optic-contact with both younger mechs, 

“Yes Ratchet.” Drift and Rodimus said as one, the Matrix giving one final pulse before the light within died. It took the serious feel of the room with it, leaving three tired mechs in its place. 

“So long as Drift agrees to watch you I will allow you to be discharged, Rodimus.” Ratchet demanded, doing a remarkable job of dropping the subject at hand to pivot on to the next one. “I fully expect the two of you to think a few things over yourselves. And If I hear so much as one, _single_ , rumor about you doing anything other than sitting on your aft, I will drag you right back to this berth,” He pointed at the one the Matrix sat atop of, having completed his transformation back into Grumpy Chief Medical Officer. “and _permanently park you on it.”_

“We’ll go to Roddy’s hab.” Drift said appeasingly. “Talk a few things over.”

“Make one of those things what you want to do about Getaway, because the fragger just woke up.” Ratchet grumbled. 

His comm buzzed again, and somehow the medic magicked up a wrench in his hands, marching toward the private room with an audible curse.

Wisely, Drift and Rodimus fled. 

xXx

“We don’t actually have to talk things over--” Rodimus started, because apparently he could only handle acting like a Prime for all of five minutes. Not that Drift blamed him--they’d run through a _lot_ of heavy emotions today. and it was early still. 

If they didn’t need this, if he hadn’t been gone for all these months, he might’ve even let his friend get away with it. 

Instead, Drift kept his grip firm on his Captain’s wrist, pulling the both of them directly to Rodimus’s hab. “Oh yes we do.” He said, without looking back. 

Because he had gone away, and doing so had damaged their bond, even if they had both agreed to it at the time. 

Rodimus held back, making Drift work for it. “I should be giving you space too, let you think this over.” He protested.

He probably even meant it.

“We’ve had plenty of space.” Drift continued and that got a flinch. He did his best not to feel guilty about it. (He failed miserably, but told himself this was needed.) 

Then they were in front of Roddy’s hab, through the doors (the passcode to which Drift still had, meaning Rodimus had not changed it since he had left, and he made a mental note to fix that _immediately_ ) and straight to the couch they had purchased second hand off a slightly shady street vendor. 

In a move he had used a thousand times in battle (and more than once for pulling someone down onto a berth) Drift spun in a circle, wrapping Rodimus’s arm around his body, and rapidly pushed them both back, so that Rodimus dropped to the couch and Drift atop of him. 

Rodimus grunted with the impact of it, but went down without resistance. Drift let his weight sink in for a moment, pinning his Captain down if only to reassure himself the mech was here, he was fine, and nothing too terrible had happened. That they’d shown up in time to help, and that no one had died. 

This was a ‘Con thing, a part of that culture that relied on showing affection through domination. Something so ingrained that the swordsmech still defaulted to it, as embarrassed as he felt about it afterwards. 

Rodimus let him, helm falling back and staring at his bondmate with a tired but fond grin. 

They kept like that for a moment, just existing together, before Drift wiggled off, taking a seat next to him but leaving their legs partly tangled.

“Now,” He announced with a spread of his hands, as if all of that was for show, which it had been, “-we talk.”

There was a long, brief moment where Rodimus blatantly weighed the pros and cons of arguing more. Drift simply tapped the bond when the moment stretched on too long, signaling that he wasn’t going to let this go. 

Couldn’t. If they were going to move forward, their bond had to be solid, and that meant tackling 

all the things the younger Prime wouldn’t say in front of Ratchet. About Drift’s departure, about his and Ratchet’s relationship--about it _all._

At least they had the bond between them, and that would allow them to solve things a heck of a lot faster. 

"I've hurt you enough." Rodimus said suddenly, throwing the bond wide open with the truth of it even as he avoided looking Drift in the optics. "I can't take Ratchet away from you like this."

“Ratchet is his own person, you can’t take him away from me.” Drift told him, happy for once to have suffered through a talk where Ratchet had said exactly that.

It wasn’t often he was the one with an emotional leg up between the two of them. He planned on enjoying it for as long as it took to beat into his Amica and bondmate’s head that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Fine.” Rodimus conceded, switching subjects of guilt as easily as some mechs switched weapons. “I haven’t made one right fragging decision since the _Lost Light_ launched, including making you leave. People are going to _freak_ if I come out as the new Prime. Cybertron needs someone else.”

"Primus chose you.” Drift said automatically, because that was familiar footing. Then; “We discussed this before I left. Apparently I need to remind you the "sent away" part was a show for the crew. We decided together that I should leave."

A scowl appeared on the Captain's face. "Yeah, and it was a stupid idea I encouraged when I should have taken responsibility in the first place." 

“You learned something valuable from it.” Drift countered instantly. “Skills that make you a better leader, and you did it while managing to save yourself and most everyone else.”

“Most everyone.” Rodimus echoed stubbornly, as if that was the only part that mattered. 

To him, it was. 

“In certain armies, making sure your entire crew lives is something only overachievers do.” Drift told him mildly, only partly annoyed at himself that he still had problems saying the word ‘Decepticon.’ He had been one. Rodimus knew he had been one. Saying it wouldn’t turn him back into Deadlock. 

Even if some days, it felt like it would take nothing more than the wrong word, the wrong movement, to change back. 

"Ratchet is your reward for putting up with me.” Rodimus argued, changing tracks again. “Go get him and get out of here. Settle down, live a cutesy, bonded life. Flee before I take on the role of Prime and end up ruining all of Cybertron instead of just this journey." Part of that was meant to be a joke, but it just fell flat.

Hard not too, when Drift could feel how much of it Rodimus felt was true. 

Their bond ached with hurt, but also with a stubbornness that Drift recognized instantly. It was the same kind he had, with a side helping feeling like you’d fucked up so badly you could never make things right again.

His Captain was determined to be stupid about this.

Time to shock him out of it, the same way Wing used to shock him out of his own tendencies.

Drift snorted. It was a human sound that he'd picked up from Verity, and it had its uses.. "Guess I really have been away for too long, if you've forgotten that you're not the only mass murderer in the room."

As expected, Rodmius's popped wide, the mech whipping his head around to face Drift. 

"I have a lot to repent for." Drift told him sincerely, before Rodimus could get a word in. "That you chose me, that the Matrix let me be chosen, is the only reason I can be with Ratchet in the first place."

Across the bond, Drift shared all the things he couldn't say, the words that got stuck and refused to come out. 

Guilt, forgiveness, shame, joy--it all spelled out the picture he watched his best friend solve. The one that showcased how Drift knew he hadn't done enough in life to make up for anything he'd done as Deadlock. That he felt nothing would make up for it. Yet, Rodimus had accepted him as he was. Needed him, not just as a friend, but to function as a Prime. 

"You gave me a purpose to live. A real purpose, instead of one I made up while latching onto the next person my processor got addicted to." And it was an addiction to them. To Megatron, Wing, even to an extent, Ratchet. (he was working on that last one--had too. Ratchet had been the person to call him out on this particular aspect of his personality.) 

Rodimus was the only person who'd made him think for himself.

Unintentionally yes, but he’d still done it. 

"I'm not choosing you over Ratchet, and I’m not choosing Ratchet over you. I can choose you both.” He could. He knew he could. He put any and all doubts out of his processor. 

“I can feel the Matrix too, Roddy, through you." He tapped the bond to make a point."It wants Ratchet for you, and I agree with it full-spark” 

Rodimus scrapped his hand over his face, heaving in a deep vent. "Okay." He said. "Let's say he accepts and I accept and you--"

"Accept." Drift said at the same time, and grinned at the annoyed look that got him.

"What about your relationship?" Rodimus finished. The image the bond threw out was one that spoke of a broken relationship, with Rodimus as the cause. It was wrapped in worry, in misery, and Drift set out to dispel it immediately. 

"That’s on us." Drift told him gently. "If it's meant to be, it will work out. If not, then we tried our best." Which was a brave thing for him to say, considering how terrified he was of Ratchet leaving. Equally though, he was afraid of losing Rodimus, of losing the Matrix’s acceptance, and being left as he had started. 

Alone. 

Without either Ratchet or Rodimus…

Drift banished the thought away, refused to think it. It wasn’t helping right now, and so out of his helm it went. 

"It cannot be that simple." Rodimus was saying, head back in his hand. He was curled partly in on himself, but at the very least he was still looking at Drift. 

Who shrugged, because it was. 

"Let Ratchet decide what he wants to do.” He said it firmly, as a way to end any other questions surrounding what might or might not happen with his relationship. “In the meantime, we have a lot to catch up on. Like Megatron and the mutiny."

Rodimus looked like he wanted to argue, but the name of his "co captain" brought him around.

"Yeah, alright." He grumped, very clearly not alright. 

Drift wasn't worried.

He knew which way Ratchet would fall. 

Getaway on the other hand, was a concern. 

xXx

“How’s your head?” Ratchet asked.

“Fuzzy.” Getaway responded, the words slow and static-ridden. “I can’t access half my own systems.”

“Right now you don’t want to be able to.” Ratchet informed him briskly. “I am running a diagnostic scan on your processor. So far it has found no errors. Are you seeing any internally?” 

A common question following any kind of severe injury. Getaway’s face glazed over as he focused, the process slow going. 

The asshole really had done a number on himself. Ratchet was half loath to waste medical supplies to bring him back. 

“Clear. No Errors.” Getaway said. Then, in a voice no different from the first, he added; “They’re going to side with me you know.”

“Oh you’d be surprised.” Ratchet countered. He’d been on alert from the start--he always was, when treating Jazz’s mechs. The medic couldn’t recall if Getaway had been personally trained by his former bondmate, but it didn’t matter if he hadn’t been--all surviving Spec Ops mechs had a weirdness running through them. Something that made them perfectly suited for their profession, kept them alive when they should have been dead seven times over.

For most of them, Ratchet found, it was the ability to calculate emotionally, mentally. Not quite to the level of a psychopath, but certainly something that overlapped the two. 

“Most of the crew is rather upset with you, no matter how they started off.” Ratchet continued. It was vital to see how Getaway was going to play the next few seconds. It would let the CMO know what his next steps should be. 

“Not the crew.” Getaway dismissed, without passion or fury. “Cybertronians as a whole.” 

“All of Cybertron is going to side with you about a mutiny on a single ship?” 

Getaway turned his head. He didn’t wince, though the movement had to cause him pain. 

“That this war isn’t over, it just changed.” He said, with absolute conviction. “And the only way to stop it is to kill them.”

“Them?” Ratchet prodded, half dreading the answer. 

“Megatron. Optimus. _Rodimus._ ” Getaway said and for the first time, disgust cracked his voice. “Keeping them alive keeps the wound of war open. We can’t close it until they’re _gone._ ” 

Which at least, told Ratchet what to do. 

“First Aid.” He called over his shoulder, as he drew the drugs to send Getaway back into a nice, deep sleep. “Keep an optic on this one, make sure he stays where he’s supposed to.” On a private, short-range comm he added; ::Tell Ambulon, Velocity and Lancer we’re going on shifts. This ones good enough to convincely lie to enough people to get them riled up a second time, and we have other things to deal with right now.::

Other things that did not involve Getaway turning his mutiny into another murder spree.

xXx

That night Drift commed Ratchet, asking if it was alright that he stay with Rodimus.

 _::You’d better.:_ : Ratchet commed back instantly. :: _If we leave him alone he’s going to do something stupid. You’re his only bondmate, you’re responsible for him::_

 _::Would be a lot easier if he had two of us, wouldn’t it?::_ Drift teased, not really expecting a direct answer. 

_::Yes it would, but that’s not until tomorrow.::_ Then; _:: Don’t tell the idiot that.::_

Drift grinned. _::How about I tell him you called him an idiot?::_

There wasn’t a way to send an optic roll over comms, but it was heavily implied when Ratchet sent: _::Isn’t it both of your bedtimes?.::_

 _::Frag you. Love you.::_ He sent, and smiled when he got the exact same response in return. 

“There, Ratchet is fine with me sleeping over.” Drift said right after, giving a pointed look to Rodimus. Who had had a fit about needing to make sure Ratchet knew, even though Drift had previously sent him a text about the exact same topic earlier. 

Along with some other topics. One of which had lasted the entire length of some movie Rodimus swore Drift needed to see to “keep up with the memes.” 

(He’d forgotten what the pit a meme was, but he was sure Rodimus would remind him soon enough.) 

“Yes, Roddy.” He said. 

“And he knows about...” Rodimus trailed off, trying to phrase things politely for the first time in his life. “About _us_ , right?”

Drift’s turn to roll his optics. “He knows we’ve had sex. He knew about that a long time ago.” What he hadn’t known was the whole Prime-bond thing, but Rodimus and Drift had stopped having sex seriously around the time Drift had confessed that he wanted to go for Ratchet. 

Back then, it had been Rodimus to halt things, jokingly telling Drift that a Prime bond wasn’t exactly a sparkbond and that he clearly wanted to pursue other people, and to go do that before they all died. Drift had believed him then.

Ratchet had other beliefs. 

Ones that made a lot more sense, considering. 

Half of him wanted to discuss it now, but as Ratchet had pointed out, they’d had enough stress for today. 

Tomorrow, they could discuss the rest of the bond in detail. Tonight his job was to just get his Prime to calm down long enough to drop into recharge. 

“And he was fine throwing a bond into that?” Rodimus continued, prodding at this as he had been for far too long. 

_“Clearly_ he is, Roddy. Can we recharge or not?” 

“Yeah.” Rodimus said, not moving from his spot closest to the door. Drift’s optics narrowed.

He was not taking the spot by the wall.

A lazy, knowing grin managed to show through on Rodimus’s face, the first positive look he’d had since Drift had met up with him. “Fight me for it.” He said.

“I will.” Drift told him. 

“You won’t.” Rodimus challenged. “You’ll lose.” 

_“No,_ I won’t.” 

They stared at each other like two dogs about to go after the same treat. Then as one, they pounced, fighting like the sparklings they were.

Drift won.

Rodimus swore he let him. 

(They both recharged happily, in a pile of limbs and warm engines, their bond humming happily.) 

xXx

At 5:00 pm Earth time (why the _Lost Light_ was on Earth time was something he never asked, if only because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer), Ratchet was supposedly in his office, thinking hard over whether or not he wanted to “share” Drift with Rodimus and once again take up the mantle of Sanest Voice at the Table within a Prime’s Inner Council. 

In actuality, he was breaking his latest promise to himself about drinking while trying to think this entire fragged mess through, start to finish. 

Fact One: He already knew he was going to be in Rodimus’s inner council. Drift wasn’t going to give it up, and after dragging the ex-Con’s aft out of pit and back, Ratchet wasn’t going to give _him_ up either. Either the medic could accept they were all linked together in one descending line of stupidity, or spin the thing around and make it a circle, just as they had in the medbay. 

A line would end in a tug of war for Drift, with the real possibility of launching Rodimus towards a path of self destruction that, considering his status as Prime, would likely backfire on them all. Meanwhile, a circle meant Ratchet had some slim chance of bringing order about. Better, it meant he had a say in who _else_ was brought on to bring order about. 

People who would listen to him, and help corral any urgings or feelings or general insanity the Matrix would cause.

Which, if he had Optimus’s entire reign to go by, would be lots. 

Fact Two: Ratchet loved Drift. He could--had--say it freely. It was a new thing to him and he was taking it slowly, but he was past denying his feelings. This was the one thing he wanted. Selfishly, with all his spark. Ratchet had denied it, denied himself of it for so long that now that he’d finally allowed it he knew he could never go back.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that could make him handle going back. 

And finally, Fact Three: Drift would never tell Rodimus no. Not in the way the kid needed, not in the way Cybertron needed. Ratchet wasn’t without his faults (was in fact, _painfully_ aware of them) but he knew Drift and Rodimus on their own would end in disaster.

Overlord had proven that.

So If Ratchet was going to do this again--which he was--then he was going to do it the right way. 

Even if he had to drag everyone, kicking and screaming, with him.

There were going to be some things to overcome. His and Drift’s relationship as it existed would change. So would Ratchet’s relationship to Rodimus, and whoever else the kid chose. He’d gotten lucky in that they hadn’t truly talked about what a Primal bond entailed, and what it would mean for anyone who took it up. 

Since that part absolutely had to be discussed before they bonded, Ratchet would not be getting lucky a second time. Not like that, anyway. 

A part of him hurt at the idea of losing Drift to himself. Of not having him as a proper Conjux, the two of them alone in their own heads. 

The rest of him, the parts that had been making themselves known since Rodimus had pulled the stupid magical sphere out of thin air, ached to be apart of a group again. 

A group who understood you, that could never truly divide because someone always saw your point. People who knew you, knew what you needed with nothing other than a feel and a glance. Mechs who loved you no matter what. Who supported you. 

(Quietly and under great duress, Ratchet might admit the thing he hated the most about the Matrix was what it took from him. Because his group hadn’t been strong enough to survive without its bonds. They had drifted apart, they had hurt each other, and they had changed into mechs Ratchet no longer recognized.That part was what he refused to go through again. 

That part was what he was determined to change, to fix. 

All he had to do was pick mechs whose bonds would be stronger than that. Would remain stronger than that, even though the disappearance of the Matrix.

A good place to start would be informing mechs of what the Primal bond entailed before bonding to them, which Optimus had failed to do only because they hadn’t known. None of them had known, until it was too late to warn the rest.) 

The rise of a new Prime wasn’t just going to throw the _Lost Light_ into chaos, it was going to throw Cybertron as a whole into upheaval, and Rodimus was going to need a group of mechs specifically suited to deal with that. (and to frankly, deal with him dealing with that. Ratchet would pick Rodimus for many things but a political figurehead wasn’t one of them.) 

There were so many angles to cover. What it would mean to announce Rodimus as Prime. What it would do to the people--their people. Autobots, Decepticons, Neutrals, Colonists. This new world they were entering into was held together with empty promises, duct tape and poorly concealed threats--a wrong move, a wrong speech or announcement, and chances are they were all going to end up dead.

So no, he was not thinking about whether or not he wanted to bond to Rodimus. He hadn’t needed the time to think.

Instead, he needed it to plot. 

Projected against the only blank space in his office (the door) was a jumble of disconnected words Ratchet had scribbled into an empty datapad. Things like “Optimus = Start War/End War, Rodimus = ???” and “Number of mechs needed.” and “First Victim?” 

He’d been at this since yesterday, going over everything he knew about the Primal bond and working to sum it up so that no one had any surprises. 

Considering the Stupid Ball was made up of nothing but surprises, this was actually rather difficult. 

What they could not do was what Optimus had done: just pick mechs out at random, choosing only by the “feelings” the Matrix gave him. That was what would lead to the eventual path of destruction. 

His comm chimed, and with a start Ratchet realized he’d been going over this for most the day. That was more than enough time to tell his idiots he’d “thought things over” and planned on joining them, and that they could shove all that guilt they felt about it up their own afts.

This was his choice. His decision.

This time, Ratchet was going to make sure the foundation the Prime laid was solid. 

xXx

“We couldn’t do this in my room?” Rodimus grumbled, fidgeting, his optics pinned on a spot on the wall right above Ratchet’s shoulder. 

They were back in the medbay, summoned from Ratchet’s comm (and surprisingly, had shown up within a short time of receiving it.) 

“We’re here in case anything goes wrong with the bond.” He told them, leaving out the rest of his reasons. 

They didn’t need to know he’d picked the medbay because he could better control who came in and out of it. Explaining why he wanted to cut down on the number of people that could overhear things would only open him up to a whole 'nother line of questioning (and likely, another argument from Rodimus.) 

There were things the mech wasn’t ready for, plain and simple. Someone outting him as having taken on the mantle as Prime--and not just in name only--was one of those things.

Particularly if it got to Megatron--or worse, Optimus. 

Rodimus and Drift both frowned at that. “Can something go wrong?” The latter asked.

“Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean it won’t.” The CMO grumped. “I’ve reviewed what I know of Primal bonds. We have some things to go over before we jump right into it.” 

Rodimus blinked at that, optics flickering. “So you’re gonna do it?” 

“Of course.” Ratchet said, as if it had been a given this entire time. Which it had been, but he had understood Rodimus’s need for reassurance. 

Perhaps better than even the kid realized. 

“He thought it over.” Drift said, trying to contain the excitement in his field and failing miserably. “His decision was to join us.” He beamed at Ratchet, which did nothing to quell his bondmate’s unease. 

Ratchet did his best to let that enthusiasm fall past him, instead of getting caught up in it. They really did have things they needed to discuss, and those things were serious. 

“I just want to make sure you guys are certain. I think I can break the bonds if we have to but--” The overwhelming confidence Rodimus carried with him everywhere cracked, the same way it had yesterday, giving a short peek into what hid beneath his usual cocksure attitude. 

“No.” Ratchet interrupted firmly. “Bond-breaks of even the lower kinds of bonds can cause significant damage to both parties, and that’s with two mechs who both want it. We’re going to discuss how this will change things first, and we’re going to agree to work out any and all issues between us. If you can’t do that, then we’re not going through with this. Not with me, and not with anyone else. Understood?” Unspoken from Ratchet’s end was the fact that he wasn’t sure anyone could break an active Primal bond. 

He was positive the only way to destroy the bond was to break the Matrix--or kill the Prime. 

“Yes.” Drift said easily, as though he didn’t have to think about it. 

They turned as one to stare at Rodimus. As the Prime, he had final say, and if he couldn’t agree to this then...well, Ratchet supposed it would show where exactly the kid was at with those inner demons. If they kept him from being able to agree, then he wasn’t yet fit to seek out any more members of his inner council, Matrix be damned. 

Rodimus stalled for a long moment, then blew out a hard vent, taking on a seriousness that for a split second made him look older. 

“Yes.” He agreed, the word sounding as though it had been forced out of his mouth. Something he seemed to realize as he stood a little straighter. Then he surprised the hell out of Ratchet by taking a blunt approach to the issue at hand. 

“I can’t guarantee you guys that the Matrix won’t try and change your relationship.” 

“It will.” Ratchet agreed, hiding his surprise that Rodimus had picked up on that. It was clearly past time to give Rodimus more credit than he had been. 

Perhaps Rodimus himself wasn’t the only one guilty of judging him from his past faults. 

“It will demand a romantic relationship out of every mech you bond to, and that includes me. That’s its nature, and how it insures no one turns against you--or you against them.” 

Something he thought was a load of bullshit. One didn’t have to be romantically involved with someone to love them, but for most mechs, it was the quick and dirty way to jumpstart those feelings. 

The Ball of Surprises was full of stupid tricks just like that. 

“Drift and I aren’t dating.” Rodimus refuted, unknowingly giving Ratchet the perfect segway to discuss the last thing the kid was hiding. The thing the medic was certain of, that Rodimus had somehow been managing to hide from Drift.

“No, but you were--and you want to be.” 

He expected Rodimus to deny it. Pit, he expected _Drift_ to deny it on the grounds that he would’ve been able to feel it through the bonds. 

Instead, Rodimus said, half annoyed; “That doesn’t matter because he wants to be with you.” 

Which had to be the most adult thing to ever come out of the kids mouth. 

( _‘What happened to not judging, Ratch?’_ A voice that disturbingly sounded like Jazz’s popped into his head. 

He was ignored.) 

“If I bond to you, it will send you after me as well.” Ratchet warned him. It was the truth, and he wanted both younger mechs to be prepared for it. 

He doubted this was going to be an issue--he remembered very well how the bond could change a mechs mind about bondmates, and even more so how it changed Optimus’s general taste in berth partners. But Ratchet had been a lot younger then and the elder Prime had only courted people near or around his age. 

Ironhide, as old as he had been back then, had a far smaller age gap to the rest of them than Ratchet himself currently had to Rodimus. 

“I _know._ ” He said, in the same tone he argued with Magnus about supplies. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll stay out of it.” Rodimus frowned, gaze flicking over to the Matrix that was once again perched on a medical berth. “I just don’t know what it will try to pull.” 

And suddenly, abruptly, Ratchet saw half of Rodimus’s protests in an entirely new light. 

Just because Drift and Rodimus had halted the romantic half of their relationship didn’t mean that it had been done because the feelings were no longer there. 

Drift’s feelings for him had no doubt just been stronger--and the two of them, these two, _stupid_ idiots, had decided that apparently meant they themselves could no longer pursue what they thought was just a “fling.” 

He’d bet credits that the Matrix was giving Rodimus feelings for Ratchet as well now that it was drawn to him, and begging for a bond.

Yet another thing the kid was no doubt covering up guilt for. 

The urge to curb stomp the Matrix was bubbling back up again. Ratchet did his best to ignore it. 

“A Primal bond isn’t an Amica bond, or even a sparkbond.” He explained, while trying to keep his temper about the whole thing. 

“It’s worse. It is invasive, it is overwhelming, and it was made like that in order to serve a purpose. To that end,” and frag it all if he had fallen into lecture mode, as if he was teaching a group of med students instead of two mechs who were setting up to change the entire face of Cybertronian society, “It will do whatever it takes to get what it wants. You will not ruin Drift and I’s relationship, Rodimus. But you will become a part of it. And so will anyone else you choose to bond with.” 

It was the one thing he planned to drill over and over into Rodimus’s head. Why he had to pick carefully. The Matrix could--would--make them all get along. But it would be easier to choose mechs who were more likely to get along from the start, and part of that was letting them know from the beginning that they’d all end up sharing each other’s berths.

Well... maybe not all of them with each other, but absolutely all of them with Rodimus. 

Said mech was shaking his head, arms crossed firmly against his chest. 

“I’m not going to hurt you guys like this.” He said doggedly, and for a frustrating moment, Ratchet thought he was going to have to spend another day, possibly a week or month, arguing around with the younger Prime, trying to prove that yes, this was going to happen, and if he didn’t want it happening with Ratchet then he needed to say so _now._

For a moment, and only a moment, the crack reappeared. The worry showed itself on Rodimus’s face, passing like a shadow. 

Yeah, the kid didn’t have a good handle on this whole mess as he thought. 

Which meant it would be up to him and Drift to bring him around. 

Speaking of the ex-Con, the mech finally spoke, stepping up close to both his CMO and his Captain. 

“Rodimus wants reassurances.” He loudly announced, doing that thing where he apparently read into the bonds and pulled the feeling his Prime was trying to hide right out from under him. “And I can assure you that no matter what happens, with either of you or anyone else, I won’t be regretting it.” 

Then he turned and looked expectantly at Ratchet, as if he was supposed to say the same damn thing.

 _::Kiss him.::_ Drift commed him quietly, doing his best to keep the buzz from being noticeable. _::He doesn’t know you talked this part over with me yesterday, or that we’re both okay with sharing, and he responds better to actions than words anyway.::_ A glint lit the ex Cons optic, one that was far too suggestive for the situation at hand. _::So prove it to him.::_

Ratchet was never good at listening to advice. Was in fact, rather used to being the person who gave it, or gave opinions on it. 

But Drift had proven more than once that his instincts were correct and out of respect for him, and the bond that gave him better insights to Rodimus, Ratchet didn’t question it. 

“Fine.” Ratchet grumped, more for show than for anything else. 

Then he strutted forward (because no matter how old he got he still had it) hauled a startled Rodimus to him by his chest plate and kissed him hard enough to make the mech’s spoiler jump in surprise. 

Rodimus jerked back almost immediately, shock and horror covering the fleeting second of arousal, and he turned to face Drift, hands shooting up as if to prove he hadn’t touched Ratchet. 

“Drift--” He said, startled, panicked, but his bonded only gave him a grin and a lazy wave.

“Keep going, I wasn’t done watching.” He purred, causing the young Prime to gap at him. 

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.” Ratchet said, drawing his attention back. His hands were still on that red plating, and he kept them there. “You do not have to be with me sexually at all if you don’t want to. But we’re okay if you are. You won’t ruin our relationship.” 

Neither would the Matrix, but clearly this is what was needed most.

"We'll take this slow." Drift added, sauntering up to press a kiss first to Rodimus’s cheek, and then to Ratchet’s. 

He leaned into them both from the side, helm knocking up against the two of theirs. 

“And we do it together. Agreed?” 

“Agreed.” Ratchet echoed, with a smile. He aimed it at Rodimus, because the kid clearly needed it the most.

Those blue optics were still saucer wide, but there was some thought in them, along with some shocked disbelief. 

Ratchet had a feeling they’d be dispelling a lot of that in the future. For now though, he thought they had done enough. 

Drift turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against Rodimus’s faceplate. “Roddy?” He said, with the purr back in his voice.

“Yeah.” The kid said thickly. “As long as you guys really are okay then--then yeah.” And his field fell against theirs, cautious, searching (and underneath it all hopeful, as if this was the last outcome he had ever expected.) 

“Good.” Drift leaned back, engine thrumming happily. “Now how are we going to do this?” 

“However you did this the first time.” Ratchet responded, hoping they knew how they bonded and it hadn’t been something they’d done while overcharged or half dead. 

“I need--ah. Here.” Rodimus said, his empty hands (having fallen to his sides) now coming back up with the Matrix mysteriously between them. “Let’s do this, I guess.”

“You guess?” Ratchet teased gently. “Is that really the best you’ve got?” 

Blue optics flashed, their owner rising to the challenge. “Hell no it’s not.” Rodimus said, attitude punching through his voice. Ratchet was surprised to realize he’d sort of missed it. 

Then the kid raised the Stupid Sphere up to his chest, hands on handles that hadn’t been there when they had started this conversation, and _bellowed;_ “Till All Are One!”

Blue light sparked from deep within, growing to light up the room as it was slowly pulled apart. 

That light danced across Ratchet’s armor, bringing with it something old, ancient, and powerful. 

It greeted him like an old friend and he it, though he didn’t bother to hide any part of his contempt for the damn thing. 

Ratchet knew it was likely old tech, nothing more than some kind of extremely advanced AI. Perhaps even the very first object embedded with an outlier ability. Nevertheless, it was not intelligent, and any feelings he had of it “laughing” at him, teasing him, were all in his head.

He did what it wanted anyway, and opened his chest, triggering the releases for his spark chamber and baring his innermost part to the two mechs with him (and yes, to the stupid ball.) 

That blue light hit the brightness of his own spark, drawing tendrils of it out of his body, doing the very same to Rodimus and Drift, and Ratchet didn’t know when he had stepped closer, when the three of them stood in a circle with the Matrix pressed so close it touched parts of all three of their plating. Sparks reaching through it, into each other, into something else, something deeper…

Thoughts started and stopped, the three of them blending together. An ancient voice, a deep voice, whispering _‘Welcome home.’_

xXx

_(Three hours later, in Ratchet’s berth, which was somehow larger than Drift and Rodimus’s both)_

“You guys really aren’t going to get mad if we--”

“No.” (That, from Ratchet.)

“--even if I--”

“No.” (From Drift. Then) “Get on the berth.”

“But--”

“Geez kid, you cannot possibly be bad enough in bed to warrant all these excuses.” 

_“Hey!”_

“Rodimus claims he’s the ship's best frag.”

A snort. “Prove it.”

“I fragging will!” 

He did. 

xXx

_They fell asleep together, all happy for once with their decisions, with how things turned out._

_Each of them with a plan, involving the slow and meticulous way they would add people to Rodimus’s Inner Council._

_The Ball of Evil, as Ratchet lovingly dubbed the Matrix the last time he had spoken of it, had other plans._

_It had been damaged, it’s power still not yet fully recovered, but it was still able to influence it’s next choice, a mech whose habsuit was thankfully close to it._

_The next morning, Ultra Magnus’s One Word A Day Calendar (West Space Quadrant Addition) boldly announced the day’s word as_ **vicissitude.**

_A noun: meaning a change of circumstances or fortune, typically one that is unwelcome or unpleasant._

_He stared at it, an odd feeling in his spark, and a weirder one in his head warning him life was, somehow, impossibly, about to get a little stranger._

_Pity for him, he was too pragmatic to hear the warning from such feelings.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants to help pick out who all Roddy ends up with cause like, there's so many options man.


End file.
